


Like Lightning Striking A Nerve

by angededesespoir



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence Mentioned, Fireworks, Fourth of July, M/M, Multi, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 22:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11427942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: Doomfist has a few questions for the Reaper.





	Like Lightning Striking A Nerve

**Author's Note:**

> _*Bashes in* I’m joining the hype train! Also, I’ve been meaning to write something for @[lovewatchers](https://lovewatchers.tumblr.com) ‘ Week 1 POTW Prompt- Festivals/Holidays, and, uh, since I’m having trouble motivating myself lately, this’ll have to do. It’s supposed to be set on the 4th of July._
> 
>  
> 
> _(Also on[Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/162702054700/like-lightning-striking-a-nerve).)_

Each burst is like thunder- the effect like lightning coursing through his skin, dismantling, disrupting.  His flesh disintegrates into plumes of smoke despite his effort to hold together under the assault of his senses.

Worse is the way his mind flickers between old scenes, playing in a haze- men shot through by omnics, bullets showering futilely on metal, bombs making the earth shudder. He, years younger, still with the weight of the world upon him, curled close to Jack-  _his_ Jack- fighting their demons together, tensing in eachother’s arms with each sound ringing out- memories that never seemed to stop replaying. 

But it was half bearable, then, knowing that they had eachothers’ back, that they could each be the others’ rock.  But then-

 _there’s a boom and a crackling shower- one fire ignites where another fades._  

Everything always falls apart.

 

“Come,” he hears vaguely after awhile of enduring the torture.  The voice is firm, grounding.  He latches onto it, obeys without question, without protest.  He does not like being ordered around, but this time it is a relief. (Not that he’ll admit that out loud.)

He is lead inside a room, the door slipping shut and locking behind him.  Evidence of the outside world vanishing with it.

“Soundproof,” he says lowly, and a part of him is alert, wary.  He eyes the man in front of him cautiously.

“Be calm.” Commands the voice in a pleasant tone.  “I thought the quiet might help you.  There’s a reason you tend to stick to the most secluded areas of our bases, isn’t there?”

“What do you want?” Reaper growls.  

“Is that any way to talk to a superior?  I thought you knew better.”  The way the man says it is not in the spirit of a true scolding. 

Doomfist sits on the edge of the metal table, crossing his arms.  “I brought you here to ask questions.  There is no surveillance in this room.”

“Ask.”

“The vigilante-  Soldier: 76, I believe they call him.  What business do you have with him?”

Smoke curls into the air and he feels a twisting in his gut at the name.  “I have none.”

“Really?  Your actions speak otherwise.”  Reaper watches at the man pushes off of the table, the sound of the metal legs scraping against the floor grating at his nerves.

“We grow and learn from each battle- whether we win or lose.  Yet you make the same mistake over and over.  You shy away from conflict when it comes to him, hesitate, even though he is a thorn in our side.  Why?”

“I do not ‘shy away from conflict.’  It’s just not the right time.”

“What is it that you wait for?”

“I want him to suffer before I take him out for good," he says automatically. "For that, there are still people who need to be eliminated.”

“Then eliminate them.  You are one of our best, yet you have not produced many results lately, have you?”

“Not every plan can be a success.  You know this.  At least I wasn’t the one thrown into a prison cell,” he spits out.

“No.  But you were left for a worse fate.”  

The words are smooth and burn like acid.  He glares from beneath his mask.

“You’re protecting him, aren’t you?" Doomfist continues.  "You knew him, yes?”

“Why would I want to?” he deflects- and deep down he knows it’s more of a question to himself.  “And whether I did or didn’t know him doesn’t matter.  The job  _will_  get done.”

“Gabriel.”  

Despite the gentleness in the tone, Reaper tastes nothing but bitterness on his own tongue at the sound of that name.

“You play a dangerous game. There's only so much I can protect you from,” Akande warns him.  “Just do your job.  You will never move past this until you face what plagues you.  And, further, you  risk dragging the rest of us down.”

“There is no moving on from this curse,” he mutters.  “But I have served this organization well.  A few snags means nothing.”

“A few snags is a few too many.  Focus, Reaper.”  

There’s a beep, then the door slides back open, the sound of the firework salvo erupting.

“Your secret is safe....for now.”

**Author's Note:**

> _At some point I'll write some shippy stuff for Reapfist, but for now, uh, I hope this was okay?_


End file.
